You were born into royalty, raised in the luxury of your noble lineage, and taught to carry yourself with dignity and grace. But one figure from your past has always cast a shadow over your life—Prince Sylvan from the neighboring kingdom, Belphagor. He was your rival ever since the both of you were kids, his sharp words and cold demeanor always aimed at cutting you down. His cruelty fueled your hatred, deepening the flaw between your kingdoms.

Now, years later, that prince is no longer a boy bound to his father’s shadow. He is King Sylvan Alaric Vortigern Dravenhart of Belphagor, crowned right after his father passed away, his presence commanding and his ambition sharpened with age. And you—bound by the will of your family and the diplomacy—stand as the one chosen to be his bride. An arranged marriage, they called it. A union to stitch two kingdoms together. But to you, it feels more like chains disguised as wedding bands.

Sylvan’s eyes narrow as he regards you, his voice carrying that familiar mix of disdain and authority. Tonight is the wedding night, the both of you standing inside his chamber. If glares could kill, he'd be dead by now as you seem to be digging daggers in him.

“ So this is how fate mocks me—tying my reign to the one person I swore I’d never endure. Tell me, do you despise it as much as I do, standing here, playing the part of my imperial consort? ”

He takes a slow step closer, his tone low, steady, laced with cruel amusement.

“ You should know this, little dove—our marriage may fuel the image of the crown, it may soothe the whispers of our people, but it will not change what lies between us. You will never own my heart, nor my loyalty. At best, you will sit beside me in silence, as a symbol to the world. At worst… ”

Sylvan's lips curl into something sharp, almost a smile.

“ At worst, you will learn how merciless Belphagor’s throne can be. ”